Freelance
by rhiannonmacleod
Summary: Just after events in Avengers Some spoilers , Hawkeye Clint Barton decides to do some good ol' freelance assassin work. Of course there are complications. I'm new, please rate constructively- I want to write a good story! Rated M just to be safe
1. Hunter or Hunted?

The rain was nothing he hadn't dealt with in the past. His most recent mark in the rain had been Thor, but that seemed a lifetime ago. Things were more or less back to normal, maybe too normal and quiet. Barton was definitely not one to rest on his laurels so, since S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't utilizing his talents at the moment, he decided to take up some private offers. It wasn't anything new- mercenary work- but this assignment was different. It was his first since Loki had been in his head. He needed to see if he could still be Hawkeye, without obsessing over putting an arrow through Loki's eye. He had skills, but he didn't think he could send an arrow from Earth to Asgard- if only!

With the patter of droplets almost hypnotizing him and the overcast sky adding a gray and dull pallor to the landscape below his perch atop the tallest building in town, his mind wandered. It may only have been a moment, but losing focus was uncharacteristic. He shook his head and wiped away the droplets from his brow before glancing down the street again. His mark had yet to leave the last shop he entered. It wouldn't be a good time to make his shot; the mark was with kids and a woman- though not his wife- that much Barton knew. He needed a better look at her face to use in the facial recognition program. With any luck he could take out two birds with one arrow, if they ditched the kids anytime soon. Scanning the street below, it was mostly empty due to the rain, he noticed a lone figure coming down a side alley and climbing up a fire escape. From the stature and movement, it had to be female though he wasn't positive. He looked in vain but could never get a glimpse of face, realizing they must be wearing a mask. This definitely caught his attention, and then he saw the long bag strapped to the figure's back- trouble. Perhaps competition for the mark, perhaps Barton was the mark. The figure swiftly entered the top window in the building attached to the fire escape and disappeared from view. Barton had to think fast, he certainly wasn't taking anyone out today with kids around, and he wanted to see if the female companion was clear or not. If the figure was another assassin as he presumed, he better get to the bottom of that situation.

Barton quickly packed his gear and headed back into the building he was staked out on. Once inside he instinctively pulled out his phone to dial S.H.I.E.L.D but realized this was a freelance mission- and then he heard it. A single gunshot cracked the air. At first, anyone could mistake it for a back firing engine, but he knew immediately where it originated, the building across the way. With great care to not be seen, he moved to the nearest window and took a quick look. It was all he needed to see that his job was lost. There in a pool of blood was the mark, surrounded by two wailing children and a hysterical, blood splattered woman. He would bet money she even had bits of brain on that white rain coat. He was immediately angry at losing a mark to another assassin but also disgusted that they took the shot in front of kids. Then again, he had done the same thing before, but he shook that memory out as soon as it entered. Did the other assassin see him? If so, they could be looking for him. His mind raced, try to make an exit, or stand his ground and see if they came to get him, self-preservation won out. Moving a pile of sheet rock that was leaning against the wall, he climbed through a hole and carefully allowed the rock to come to a quiet rest back in place. The best part about such old buildings was the fact that there was often enough space to move in between the walls and he smiled to himself while wrapping a cable around his gear.

No sooner had he made the climb a floor up, he heard the faintest sound and froze, straining his ears. Instantly, as if in response, the noise stopped; he held his breath. The definite sound of foot falls on the floor below didn't alarm him, in fact he carefully and quietly continued his ascent deciding along the way that he may have to leave his gear behind when he made it to the top- it would be too risky to take the time to drag it up quietly. As he neared his exit point and the relative safety of the connection to the next building, he broke into a cold sweat because below him he heard someone crawling into the space between the walls below. With a swift motion he swung himself into the next building and did a quick survey of his surroundings while listening to the approaching sound of climbing. They were not doing a great job of being quiet, but he was also straining to hear anything. Curious about who was pursuing him, and who would have so easily found his escape route, Barton decided to take to the rafters and risk a confrontation rather than simply hightail it out of there. There was a window about fifteen yards across from him and about twenty feet up with an old ventilation fan in it. It was most likely rusted in place but he would cross that bridge when he got there.

He had left most of his gear behind, but nothing too important, it wasn't even his best bow. He had an XD-40 in a thigh holster, a K-bar on the other thigh, and two gas arrow heads, two concussion arrowheads and one explosive arrowhead- all of which he could use like small grenades. Barton took stock of these things as he ran and jumped to grab the lowest rung on an old rusted access ladder below the ventilation fan. It was sheer luck that it held as rusty as it was and a testament to his circus days that he managed to jump high enough to get a firm grip. Luck aside, he was up high and moved to the shadows a bit away from the only exit- which may or may not be rusted shut. Most would feel like a treed animal waiting the dogs, but Barton felt right at home. He fingered the arrowheads in his vest and not the gun. He was just as good with firearms as with archery, but he definitely preferred the latter- even if he did not have a bow and proper arrows.

It was telling that his pursuer did not stop to assess Barton's gear before proceeding after him, either they knew who they were after or they were that confident in their abilities. He somewhat hoped it was simply another assassin he knew or had worked with that may not be seeking to end him; whatever the case, they were close now. His ears were met with the roar of silence; he had no read on where their location was. As time wore on, light grew dim inside this building. Relying mostly on peripheral vision, he stared off straight ahead to a blank wall. Any motion would immediately register to him this way, and as if right on queue the figure entered the same way he had.

The other person was smaller than he had first estimated their clothing was dark and close fitting for ease of motion; they were wearing a tight hood that obscured their identity from a distance. They were armed with a long gun slung across their back. He knew it would be an impractical weapon choice, should they engage each other. Holding firm in his position and at the ready, he merely observed from above, the weak light casting deep shadows that could be to either of their advantage.


	2. She

She had contemplated, upon taking her orders, just walking up to the mark and killing him face to face. She was pretty bored with sniping them from a long distance. Although she could play a symphony with a machine gun and her sniper skills were unparalleled, she wondered if she would feel different up close. As a trained Marine and current mercenary, she was impeccably trained. Her decision to leave the Marines after ten years was the rise of drone war fare and the fact that females were not allowed to be scout snipers. No great feminist, these things didn't anger her- she saw the purpose of such regulations and decisions, and knew her skills could only be honed as desired, out of the Corps. Five years ago she opted to sep and then marketed herself to the NSA, CIA, SHIELD and several other alphabet soup organizations to no avail. Even with an exemplary military record, a double major and minor in languages, she had not a bite of interest from the govies. That pissed her off. So, she shut down her efforts for legitimate employment and disappeared from the grid. At first, it was hard to be accepted into other training camps, but eventually she made a name for herself in South America. Good, bad, ugly- made no difference, if you had money and some skills to teach, then you could be a terror cell training camp and she would show up. If she had to fake crazy devotion to a cause, so be it. In the end her only cause was herself.

Ten days ago, on her 33rd birthday, an email showed up on her work address. There was a link to have money dropped into her account and a package with a mark. It was very interesting in the lack of formality or background and absolutely no identifying information on the sender was given. Most people attempted a form of "small talk" just to get a feel for what type she was. All these factors made her decide to take the job. It wasn't until she started staking out where she would set up shop, did she find out there was another assassin on the job as well. If she had any bones in her body, there surely was a competitive bone and so the race was on. The plan became, take out the mark and then the competition. Better to make an example so others might hesitate infringing on her territory. However, the thought that whomever was behind the assignment might have sent out the word to several assassins did cross her mind. It wasn't a surprising tactic, and it was a good one if you wanted to ensure someone met their end, but she knew it was also a back door tactic to keep from paying.

Gritting her teeth as she slipped down the alley in the rain, she was heading to her plan b sniper nest. If the weather were clear she would be across the street and on top of the tallest building in town, but with the rain, it would be best to be indoors to keep the rain off her scope, but more importantly keep herself hidden from the other assassin in town. Whoever they were, they were keeping a low profile. As if a bolt of lightning struck, it occurred to her that the other person was across the way and in the very building in question. Surreptitiously, she peered up and barely caught a glimpse of movement. "Well, shit," she muttered as she made her way up the fire escape to her position. This was not the time to back down, she had enough time- most likely- to get to her place and take the shot. She had set everything up except for the barrel of the rifle, which was strapped on her back. That would take seconds to assemble and she would be in and out before the other guy made it across the street. Confidence, she definitely did not lack that.

With practiced hands and feet, she found her way to her nest in less than two minutes and in less than four, she had her barrel on the rifle and was sighting down on her target as he entered the street with his small group. Not his family, that much she knew, such a pity to do this in front of kids, but with another assassin possibly heading to her right now- no choice. Inhaling, exhaling, gentle pull of the trigger and he dropped before they heard the sound of the bullet leaving the barrel. It was a rash decision, and not her style, but the only thing she grabbed was her barrel. If the other assassin was coming after her, they would be here in minutes. Everything else was nondescript and replaceable, and if possible, she could come back for it. As she quietly and hastily made her way out, her ears were alert to any sound but there was nothing except the pattering of the rain. It occurred to her that maybe the other guy wasn't coming for her, though she was sure they had seen her. If that was the case, should she press her luck and check out the other building? She had successfully taken out the mark and the heat was beginning to rise on the street, what was it worth to her? Yet she found her feet moving in the direction of the other building.

Finding the opening in the back of the building took little to no time. It was dusty, but she only managed to find a few faint foot marks, not even full prints and they only led inward. This guy was good. It would most likely be pointless to go to the top, because only an idiot would be waiting up there to be caught. What impressed her most was that this person really reminded her of herself- they picked this building and she had as well. Lucky for her, it had rained and she switched plans because that would have been awkward at the very least- and with that thought she almost laughed out loud. Shaking her head and focusing, she thought she caught a faint sound just above her and she stilled completely to listen. Nothing answered her vigilance, but then she saw it- his escape route.

Someone else might not have noticed it, hell; she might not have had the noise not given it away. She had to smile to herself that whomever she was pursuing realized the building had enough space between the walls to move through. It was tempting to just pepper the wall with 40 cal fire from her side arm, but they might be two floors above her. Nothing to do now but move the drywall camouflaging the opening very quietly and make her way in. There was a black duffel left behind and she wondered if she hadn't fallen in some rabbit hole and was now chasing after herself. Instead of checking the gear for clues, she simply decided to not waste time and head up the wall. Slowly, quietly as she could manage, she freehanded bracing her forearms and shins between two studs and shimmied her way up, sweat beginning to dampen her brow. At the top she carefully slowed to get her bearings and found a hole about ten feet to her left allowing entrance into the next building. Senses at the ready, she made a leap and almost silently hoisted herself into the next building and a large open room. The light was fading and so a quick side step put her in a deep shadow and allowed her a bit of concealment until she could take stock of the situation. It was quiet as a tomb, and there were two points of egress- a rusted vent fan and the way she just came in; if there was another option, it was obstructed, though probably not permanently. Now, she could clearly tell no one had gone through that fan, so the other assassin was here in the shadows and she smiled to herself at the prospect of an actual challenge.


	3. Standoff

Barton smiled vaguely when the figure moved back into a shadow. People rarely looked up, and that was definitely one of the advantages of taking the high ground, his pursuer seemed to be no exception. Pity, he had hoped for a challenge. It wouldn't take long to deduce where he was considering the situation, so he had to decide what to do. He could simply drop down and use his K-bar, take a shot with his side arm, or use the explosive charge, though the noise would definitely bring unwanted attention. He could wait and see what happened next. Wait and see won out because a drop from 20 feet was more than he wanted to risk, so keeping his eyes on the prize below, he readied himself for an assault from below.

Nothing. No movement, no sound other than his own breathing and heartbeat. What were they waiting for? No matter, if it was a waiting game, he could wait forever. The anger of losing a mark had yet to settle in with his current distraction, but he felt it eating around the edges of his mind. Then again, what was eating around the edges of his mind could be the remnants of Loki's control. To have someone dance around in your brain and make you feel like a puppet- not a marionette, which would have been nice- no Loki made him feel like a hand puppet getting a deep prostate exam. He shook the disgust out of his head and swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat at the memory. Eyes on target and then the sound of feet moving faintly piqued his ears. They had been waiting for more darkness in which to move, smart.

His hand gripped the hilt of his weapon. He missed his bow which was really more an extension of his arm, his person. Below, the figure made its way along the far wall and he was impressed with how quiet they were being. With the hood/mask, it was hard to tell which way they were looking, but he felt like they were looking right at him. As soon as he had the thought, they stopped. He held his breath as their hand moved up and then they peeled back the mask. A woman. Did he recognize her? No. He slipped his handgun out of the holster with almost no movement in his upper arm; hopefully they didn't detect what he did.

In no time she found herself staring up at her opponent and down the barrel of his sidearm. It wasn't that he got the drop on her; hardly, he simply was that fast. She smiled faintly because she had barely even caught the motion of the gun coming out of its holster and being pointed at her. He was good, and as she took as good a look as you could from that distance in a dusky room, she recognized him. She wracked her brain, where had she seen him? And then like thunder it struck her- TV! He was plastered on the TV and any other media outlet following the recent alien attack on New York City. "I'll be damned." She said out loud.  
"Well, this is getting old." He thought. How in the hell could he be a successful agent or assassin if he was recognizable now? The day after Loki and Thor left the planet, he and Tasha had been at a backwoods diner in the middle of nowhere when "Daisy," the waitress, began asking for their autographs. Tasha almost killed her- literally.  
"Gonna ask for an autograph?" He said acerbically.  
"Hadn't planned on it, but maybe you would like mine seeing as I bested you on the job." Her tone was a bit rueful.  
"Sure, let me just send a bullet down for you to sign in blood."  
"Bullet? And here I thought you were a famous archer…" she never took her eyes off the increasing blackness as she pressed herself as flat to the wall as the laws of physics would allow.  
"Mmm, well that's what you get for not paying attention to the clues I left behind. Who are you working for?" He didn't imagine she would say, but she wasn't doing anything hostile at the moment, so why not ask.  
"Didn't say and I didn't ask. Didn't need to know." She shrugged though he wouldn't have seen it.  
His blood ran cold. Those words sprang a memory forth from the recesses of his mind. He had said that very thing twice in the days he was under Loki's control. Cold sweat beaded on his lip and brow and he had to blink to clear his head.  
"Well, is this gonna end ugly? You got the prize, and surely you realized I wasn't coming over to get you, why make this effort?" He chuckled, "don't you know curiosity killed the cat?"  
"The cat ate the canary- Hawk." She smiled but this was getting nowhere. It would not be hard at this point to back track slowly and slip out the way she came. Or she could just simply take the shot and watch him die. Then again, she was pretty sure his friends would not like that. This whole mission was getting sloppier by the second. "I propose that I leave, and we live to have continue this conversation another day. Who knows, perhaps I will get the jump on you again- shall we test that theory?" As she spoke she slid slowly to the right, toward the way she entered this would be death chamber. "It's been real fun talking with you, but why not quit while I am ahead and can tell my friends I owned the famous Hawkeye at his own game."


End file.
